


First Impressions

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [1]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Five times Hannibal Smith began to suspect that he may have been wrong about Lt. Peck, and one time he definitely knew he was.





	First Impressions

 

“No way on this earth!” Hannibal Smith thrusts the transfer order back towards Colonel Mick McGrath and shakes his head to further emphasise his point. “I told you, Mick, I’m sick of you sending me lame ducks all the time! What am I suppose to be running here? A Ranger unit or a fucking crèche?”

 

McGrath sighs, he knew this was never going to be easy, “Look John,” his tone is placating, “Maybe he’s not as bad as you’ve heard, Sanders is on his way over now to give us an update.”

 

That news adds nothing to Hannibal’s mood, the KFC Colonel, as all the boys call him is one of Hannibal’s least favourite men, “Him?” he mutters, almost in an undertone, “He’s a fucking half wit…”

 

McGrath raises a disapproving eyebrow but Hannibal is saved from his retort by a sharp knock at the door and a tall, burly man with close cropped but unmistakably red hair marching into the room. Hannibal and McGrath both stand around 6’4” and are used to looking down on most people in the force, Sanders, however, most unlike his chicken frying namesake, is at least 6’6” and just seems to own any room he walks into. That's the least of the reasons that Hannibal doesn't like him.

 

“Mick, Smith,” he nods to the two men with a thin and snarky smile of his face, (another reason), before he turns to lounge against the edge of the desk. “I see you’ve agreed to take Peck off my hands then? Or I would imagine you haven’t had much say in the matter…” That smarmy smile is there again and Hannibal feels his blood heat.

 

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, sir,” Hannibal hates having to give this prick his title; “The colonel here and I were just discussing it.”

 

“Hmmm,” Sanders folds his arms, “Well I can see why you wouldn’t be too keen on having him along for the ride, the boy is a right royal pain in the ass. He doesn’t follow orders, his attitude stinks, he answers back, he stirs trouble in the unit, the other boys can’t stand him…” he shakes his head, “Pain in the ass.”

 

McGrath rolls his eyes as he takes in Hannibal’s set expression, “Well, thanks for that Sanders, most helpful,” he turns back to his Major, “C’mon, Hannibal, you know you are good with boys like this one. Remember Taylor?”

 

Sanders laughs, “Peck is nothing like Taylor, Mick, I guarantee it! Once Taylor had a night in the stockade he was putty in your hands. Peck? He’s got a fucking season ticket in there; he comes out twice as fucking obnoxious as he went in!”

 

Hannibal shakes his head again as McGrath pinches the bridge of his nose, but Sanders is on a roll, “Doesn’t even bother him to take a gut-punching, I swear, that boy is as arrogant as they come…”

 

Hannibal and McGrath exchange a quick look, they both know that corporal punishment happens, but it’s certainly not meant to be condoned by the officers, “Dick…” Hannibal mutters under his breath.

 

Although he doesn’t hear the word spoken, Hannibal’s voice brings Sanders’ attention back onto him, and his thin lips break out into a condescending smile, “So, Smith, my report helped you make up your mind then? Think you can perform another miracle on him like you did with Taylor?” It’s obvious from the snarky voice that Sanders resents every success Hannibal has ever had.

 

Hannibal ignores him and turns back to his CO, “Don’t force this one on me Mick,” he pleads, “He’s a lost cause, I don’t have time for this. I’ve read his file; all he does is fuck-up and screw around. I’ve got a lot of impressionable boys in my unit; I don’t need his type setting the wrong kind of example.”

 

“John,” McGrath’s tone is almost apologetic, “Look, I’ve not got much room to move here, the brass have

paid out a lot of money to train that boy as a Ranger, and they want to see some return on their investment. It’s not a good use of resources just to boot him out on his ear.”

 

“That’s where he’s going,” Sanders interrupts, “and if I’ve told him that once I’ve told him a million times.”

 

Irritation flares in Hannibal, he’s actually starting to feel a bit sorry for Peck, having this ass-hole as his CO, no wonder he’s never been able to hold it together. “You did eh Sanders? I can see you’ve put a lot of effort into the boy there,”

 

Sanders’ eyes flash in anger, “Don’t try to pull that one Smith, it’s not just me that has had enough of Peck, three other units threw him out before I was saddled with him!”

 

Hannibal raises an eye at McGrath who reluctantly nods back, “It’s true. You really are his last chance, John. He’s looking at a dishonourable discharge if you can’t sort him out.”

 

“I _can’t_ sort him out!” Hannibal explodes, “And I don’t even want to try. He’s reckless, useless, irresponsible, arrogant, selfish… hell; even the other boys can’t stand him!” He shakes his head, “I’ve no time for him Mick, don’t force this fuck-up onto me.”

 

McGrath rubs a hand slowly across his forehead. “Hannibal – I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to insist on this one…”

 

Hannibal swears under his breath.

 

“The brass want results, you’re the only option we have left.”

 

Hannibal turns to the door, “Six weeks!” he snaps at McGrath, “I will give him six weeks and that’s all! If he’s not got himself court martialled by then, then I want him removing from my unit!”

 

Sanders smiles his stupid smile once more while McGrath just lets Hannibal vent.

 

He gets to the door and stops with his fingers on the handle, “I will not allow a cancer like him to spread through my boys! We’ve worked too hard for him to fuck it all up!”

 

“We’ll talk about it.” McGrath’s voice is low and steady and Hannibal knows he’s pushed as far as he can today so he slams the handle down and yanks the door open, preparing to storm out, but freezes. There’s a soldier out in the corridor, standing right outside the door. Fair hair and blue eyes, a movie star’s face but with a soldier’s expression, a very pissed off soldier’s expression. Hannibal looks him up and down, his gut turning as realisation slowly dawns; he looks younger than Hannibal had imagined he would, but there is no doubt in his mind that this is the infamous Lt. Peck.

 

“Jesus, kid…” Hannibal feels like shit, “You been standing out here the whole time?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Peck’s reply is perfectly in line with protocol, but Hannibal can hear the insolence in it, just lurking below the surface.

 

“Why?”

 

“Orders sir,” Peck snaps back, “From Colonel Sanders there,”

 

There is something in the way Peck says ‘Colonel Sanders’ that makes Hannibal’s cheeks twitch in amusement, but he quickly bites it down as he turns back into the room, “That right Sanders?” he barks.

 

Sanders’ smile is so wide it looks like its going to split his face in two, “Absolutely, Smith, thought it would do the boy no end of good to hear what we all think of him, don’t you?”

 

Hannibal looks at Peck still standing to attention in the corridor and he notices the tightness of his eyes, the flushed red on his cheeks and the rigid set off his mouth and suddenly feels a wave of sympathy for the kid.

 

He looks behind him one more time; “Sanders, you are a dick-head…” he mutters then stalks past his new team member and back to his quarters. 

 

..1..

The sympathy doesn’t even last two days. It evaporates the exact moment that Hannibal is woken by the piercing phone at his bedside telling him he needs to get down to the brig and sign out his new Second  Lieutenant. It’s 5am.

 

He doesn’t rush, reckons the kid deserves a chance to cool his heels off but it’s still barely light by the time Hannibal is shown into a holding cell. Peck looks like shit. His face is grey and streaked with blood, his lip is split and swollen and his t-shirt is filthy, torn and covered in blood. Not his own Hannibal regretfully notes. At least the kid has enough about him to haul himself up to attention as his CO enters the cell, but that’s little compensation to Hannibal.

 

Hannibal looks him up and down for a moment then deliberately opens the file in his hands and starts reading, even though he knows it off by heart by now. “Picked up in town at 2am outside the Red Dragon Restaurant... Fighting with... _six_...locals...After one of them found you engaged in ‘sexual activity’ with his _wife_  in the car park...” Hannibal can’t help but shake his head at that. “Resisting arrest, foul and abusive language, threatening a civilian police officer and an MP etc. etc. etc.” He looks over at Peck, still standing to attention with his eyes fixed on the far wall. “You sure had a busy night. Got anything to say for yourself then?”

 

Peck shrugs, “Not much of a restaurant I’d say, more of a shitty little takeaway with a few tables...”

 

“Enough!” Hannibal slams the folder down onto the table and takes a forced deep breath. “You don’t seem to realise the trouble you are in here! My unit is the last chance saloon for you kid...”

 

“So I’ve been told...”

 

“And yet you still pull stunts like this! What in hell’s name were you thinking even leaving the base last night? I certainly hadn’t signed any pass out for you. Did you think you were different, special somehow? That you can just piss off any time you fancy a few drinks or a quick fuck?”

 

Anger flashes in Peck’s eyes at that last comment, but his lips stay pressed tight together.

 

Hannibal lets out a long sigh, “I’m disappointed in you. I expected more.”

 

The anger flashes again, but this time Peck’s head snaps round to face his CO, “No you’re not,” he spits, “I heard everything you and Sanders said remember? This is exactly what you expected and exactly what you got!”

 

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hannibal asks with narrowed eyes.

 

Peck flushes and goes back to starring at the wall with a muttered, “Nothing, sir...”

 

A heavy silence falls as Hannibal runs his eyes over Peck’s service record more. Eventually he lowers himself down onto one of the two wooden chairs in the room and taps his fingers thoughtfully on the table top. “Well, this is it, kid,” he leans back in the chair, eyeing Peck carefully, “this is enough to finally get you thrown out.”

 

He is sure he doesn’t imagine the brief tightening of the kid’s eyes, but then the look of bland insolence is back, “You will be pleased then sir,” there’s no mistaking the tightness of his voice however, “Saves you the bother of waiting six weeks.”

 

There’s a pause as Hannibal studies the young man in front of him, “You been trying to get yourself kicked out then, kid?”   

 

Again that flash of anger, “No, sir!”

 

“You sure about that? Got some skirt at home you want to get back to?”

 

“No, sir!”

 

“Missing your mom?”

 

Another flash, but this time Hannibal can actually see the tension in the kid’s body, the tightly curled fists and the barely reined in temper. Peck turns and meets his CO’s eye again, “No one is waiting for me anywhere,” he bites out.

 

Hannibal looks at him for just a beat then goes back to the file and flicks through the pages of misdemeanours as he ponders this very angry young man in front of him. _Has_  he been deliberately trying to get kicked out? Is he so unhappy with the army that this is the only option? But if that’s the case, why bother with the Ranger training? No one will have forced him into it, in fact, given his disciplinary record it’s a miracle he’d even been accepted. Unless... Hannibal flicks back to his scores, pre and post training. Impressive, there’s no other word for them. Obviously someone has seen some potential in the kid somewhere. Hannibal checks back again to see who signed his acceptance in Ranger school and his lips twitch in a smile of recognition, of course, General Siblinksy, the very same General who had put John Smith through Ranger school all those years ago.

 

Hannibal sighs as he makes his decision and tosses the file down onto the table in front of him, rising to his feet at the same time. “Right, kid, listen to me very carefully, ‘cause this is the deal,” He can see Peck’s eyes slide cautiously over to him, “This is your one and only chance with me, enjoy it ‘cause there sure as hell won’t be another.”

 

The surprise is evident on Peck’s face.

 

“As soon as they kick you out of this place, clean yourself up and report to my quarters. I want you right where I can see you until I can trust you. That clear?”

 

Peck nods tersely.

 

Hannibal steps right into his Lieutenant’s personal space, “And I don’t know what all this was about,” he whispers lethally, “But I will not take any bullshit from the men in my unit. You got a problem with something; you come and talk to me about it or you put up with it. You got that soldier?”

 

Another nod.

 

“I asked you question!” Hannibal roared.

 

“Yes, sir,” Peck’s voice is rough and Hannibal feels that ridiculous surge of sympathy once more.

 

“Well, don’t forget it then...” he snaps and turns on his heels letting the door of the cell slam shut behind him.

 

As he walks back to his quarters with the sun now reaching the top of the mess hall, he thinks back to his first impressions of the kid. Reckless, irresponsible, arrogant, selfish, unpopular... yeah, he would still tick all those boxes, but useless? No way, not on those scores, and not for being able to get off base undetected either, that certainly took some doing. And there’s something else he needs to add to the list as well… Furtive? Enigmatic? Hannibal isn’t sure of the right word for it just yet, but he gets the feeling that there’s definitely more to Lt. Peck than first meets the eye.

 

..2..

It’s the shouting that reminds Hannibal about the soccer match, if he’d not been so tied up in his paperwork he might have remembered earlier. He follows the yells to the dry patch of ground behind the kitchens and is relieved to find he hasn’t missed the whole game. He spies Cptn. Jason ‘Bunter’ Harvey sprawled pitch side, swigging from a half empty bottle of water and sits roughly in the dirt next to him.

 

“Boss!” Bunter almost chokes on his drink, “Where’ve you been? Thought you were gonna miss it!”

 

Hannibal smiles at the slightly British lilt to Bunter’s voice that living in the US since the age of five has not been able to erase and nods at the action on the pitch, “Came as soon as I could. How we doing?”

 

Bunter takes another swig of water and wipes the sweat off his forehead as he too turns his eyes back to the game, “It’s tight. We’ve been 2-1 up for ages, but the bastards just equalised a couple of minutes ago and,” he glanced at his watch, “there’s only about eight minutes left…”

 

Hannibal frowns. Soccer really isn’t his game, he’s much more a baseball kind of guy, but the boys love it. It’s often the game of choice due to the ease which with it can be organised in almost any conditions, but today’s game is much, much more serious than that. He shakes his head, “I can’t face Blumenfeld if his boys beat us again, Bunt, we gonna be able to pull this one off?”

 

Bunter chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “Dunno boss… We just don’t look like scoring any more.”

 

Hannibal scans up and down the touch line, “We got anyone we can put on?”

 

“Nah…” Bunter shakes his head without looking. “Made our last sub about ten minutes ago, new lad came on for me.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes drift around the players looking for Lt. Peck. It’s hard to tell them apart in the middle of the pitch. In the absence of proper kits, the soccer games are always played ‘skins’ vs. ‘shirts’; Hannibal’s team are skins today and one sweaty, shirtless player looks very much like another. Or at least that’s what Hannibal thinks before he locates Peck somewhere to the left of midfield and his mouth goes dry. _Jesus_ , that kid is built... Hannibal clenches his fists and pushes inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind while he grabs Bunter’s bottle off him and takes a swig.

 

Once his thoughts are back on safe and solid ground he can register his surprise that the kid’s even playing. From what he’s heard, Peck is a bit of a loner and not too popular with the others. It may only be a seven a side soccer game, but he knows his boys take their soccer very seriously indeed; they don’t let just anyone play for them.

 

“How’s he getting on?” he asks, glad his voice seems to sound perfectly normal.

 

Bunter shrugs, “It’s early days boss, I don’t think he’s played much before and we had to tell him the rules before we started; still don’t think he gets the off-side rule, but he’s doing-”

 

“Not in soccer…” Hannibal interrupts and Bunter turns, confused.

 

“Oh! You mean in the unit?” Hannibal nods, “Right, gotcha boss!” Bunter laughs a little at himself, “Yeah, he seems to be getting on great.”

 

Hannibal stares at the side of the captain’s head as Bunter goes back to watching the game. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. “Really?” he knows he sounds incredulous.

 

“He’s a bit quiet you know, think he’s just weighing us all up, maybe he’s worried the lads are gonna take the piss out of him or something, but he’s good in the exercises you know, and I tell you what-” Bunter turns back to Hannibal and stops as he sees the expression on his face. “What?”

 

“Peck, right?” Hannibal clarifies.

 

Bunter frowns, “Yeah. Something wrong?” 

 

“Well,” Hannibal chooses his words carefully. “It’s just I got the impression that he wasn’t very popular over in Sanders’ unit.”

 

Bunter scoffs, “Well, he wouldn’t be, would he?” Bunter turns to see Hannibal’s raised eyebrow and continues, “Sanders always made sure of that, boss. It wasn’t very good for your health to be buddies with our new guy over there.”

 

“Expand, Captain.”

 

“From what I’ve heard, Sanders doesn’t like him, first met him in Basic Training and has had it in for him ever since. Made him _persona non grata_  if you know what I mean, no one was to go near him, kept him as isolated as he could.” Bunter looks over at his boss’s shocked expression. “Come on Hannibal, surely you know that Sanders is a dick-head?”

 

“I _have_ heard that before,” Hannibal mutters. He frowns slightly, “But Peck’s been in other units as well, not just Sanders’. What about them?”

 

Bunter sighs. “Man’s a goddammed octopus. His fingers reach into many pies; it’s never been worth giving the lad the time of day before, not worth the flack you’d get.”

 

Hannibal picks up on the past tense, “But now?”

 

And Bunter turns to beam at him, “Now? Well he’s with you boss isn’t he? No way Sanders is gonna try anything around you. We know it and the lad knows it,” he turns back to the game, “couldn’t have come to a better place.”

 

They sit in silence for a minute while Hannibal processes this new information. Then he turns back to Bunter, “You were in the middle of telling me something.  Carry on Captain, I’m all ears.”

 

Bunter gives his boss a quick look before switching his eyes back to the game, “Oh, yeah. Well, I tell you what, boss, it’s all Sanders’ loss ‘cause I’ve never seen anyone get his hands on the stuff that Face can get hold of, guy’s like a walking warehouse!”

 

Hannibal registers the nickname. He’s heard it bandied about once or twice with the boys but never really gave it any thought before, now it’s another example of how quickly the kid is being accepted here and he’s surprised.

 

“You know how Jonno likes that Aussie rules stuff?” Bunter doesn’t wait for an answer before ploughing on, “Well, last week he was moaning about the Superbowl being on, says he never gets to see any of that Aussie stuff, anyway, two days later Face appears with a VHS of the Aussie Rules Cup Final or whatever they call it, Sydney versus Bombay or something.”

 

Hannibal stifles a smile. Bunter’s never been that good at Geography. It’s a good job the US army hasn’t moved into India yet. Or Australia for that matter…

 

“Jonno was made up! And then for Sharkie’s birthday he turns up with an ice cream cake. An ice cream cake! Where the hell did he get that out here?” Bunter shakes his head. “Tell you something Hannibal; Face’ll be real handy to have around when we get out on jobs again.”

 

Hannibal nods to himself. “So why ‘Face’ then?” he queries, eyes on the game as the final whistle draws closer.

 

Bunter laughs, “You seen him, boss? Looks like a fucking model!”

 

Hannibal laughs along with him, but is glad the Captain’s eyes are on the field and not liable to spot the heat in Hannibal’s face.

 

“It’s not just that though, it’s the way he uses it, can carry coal to Newcastle, that one…”

 

“What?” Hannibal is aware he’s probably missing out on a British-ism here.

 

Bunter laughs again, “You know, sell sand to the Arabs, that kind of thing…”

 

“Right… Well, I’m gonna ask you to baby-sit him for the next month, Bunt, get him out from under my feet.” Hannibal had made sure Peck had stayed really close for the last couple of weeks; he hadn’t relished the thought of being woken at the crack of dawn to sign him out of a cell again…

 

“Sure thing, boss.”

 

Again Hannibal is surprised; Bunter is an excellent Captain, but he is also the biggest whinge on the base. If there had been any reason at all that he didn’t want Peck tailing him for the next few weeks, Hannibal would have known about it.

 

“And try to keep him out of trouble,” Hannibal warns, “he’s been out of the stockade for two whole weeks now, must be some kind of record for him…”

 

Bunter laughs, “Yeah, I have heard that about him, it seems… Oh! Yes! Go on, go on… ”

 

Hannibal’s eyes shoot up to the penalty where a melee of players are tangled in a heap on the dusty ground. The keeper runs out towards them just as the ball bounces free and a filthy leg swings out of the tangle of limbs and connects smartly with it. It flies off a bare shin and grazes the keeper’s fingers on its way past him and right into the back of the net.

 

“YES!!!!!!” Bunter is on his feet, leaping up and down on the spot and waving his arms in the air as Templeton Peck drags himself up and out of the melee, yelling like a banshee and setting off on a mad sprint around the pitch, one fist in the air like superman with his jubilant team mates in hot pursuit.

 

Hannibal rises at a much more sedate pace and claps his hands appreciatively watching as Peck dives full length onto the dusty ground and is instantly buried in a mass of team mates all ruffling his hair and pummelling his arms and back in sheer joy and relief.

 

The referee eventually restores order but Blumenfeld’s boys only get chance to kick off before the final whistle sounds.

 

A cheer goes up from the assembled Rangers and their supporters and Hannibal watches with pride as his team leap all over each other again, congratulations all round, slapping each other’s backs and hugging each other.

 

He wanders onto the field, shaking hands with the losers and high fiving each of the winners. It seems a random path he’s taking, but it’s no coincidence that he reaches Peck just as the others have left the field.

 

“Hey,” he says, planting himself in front of the lieutenant, “Well done, Face, I’m proud of you.”

 

He knows he’s trying out the nickname on his lips, and likes the way it feels. But not as much as he likes the heat that flares within him at the way the kid’s whole face lights up at the praise, or the stupid way his stomach flips as they bump fists as Face passes him by. Hannibal feels his first impressions may have been a little off with this one. He’s going to have watch really carefully to find out.  

 

..3..

Hannibal bangs his clenched fist against his forehead in frustration. He’s screwed up here, made a massive miscalculation and they are well and truly stuck because of it. He edges up to peer across the boulder they are sheltering behind and checks his options once again.

 

The canyon behind them is blocked by the landslip, there is no way on earth they can get out over that, not without it all coming down on top of them again. The walls are sheer rock face. With the right gear they could make it, but then they’d be sitting ducks for that sniper at the other end of the gully. Maybe in the dark, but he doubts they are going to last that long.

 

The rebels know they are here, but they aren’t sure where exactly. They’ve left three men at the head of the gully while they presumably go back for reinforcements. Once they arrive, Hannibal knows they will just advance down the canyon, flushing his team out as they go, and picking them off one by one until they are all dead.

 

Frustration boils within him. He shouldn’t have brought the guys down here, should have guessed that the heavy rains would have collapsed the sides of the gully. He’s lead them to their deaths.

 

A movement at his side brings Bunter up to his shoulder, the side of his face scratched and torn from his own attempts at getting over the landslip. “We’re running out of time, boss...” he mutters.

 

Hannibal sighs. Bunter wants to make a break for it now, before the reinforcements arrive, but Hannibal knows that they wouldn’t get to the end of the gully with those three guards left there. They obviously know what they are doing – from their chosen vantage points they can easily cover the entire canyon. Jonno wants to try and pick them off, but even Bunter knows that’s not going to happen. No one can make a clean shot from this distance, and it would have to be a clean shot otherwise all it would do is alert the guards as to their exact position, make it so much easier to pin them down once the reinforcements arrive.

 

Frustration churns within him, what the fuck has he done?

 

Hannibal turns and shuffles back down the boulder to where his team is huddled and he looks them over one by one. Bunter, his XO, loyal and brave and just wanting to get out of here. Jonno, trying to look like he’s not bothered but Hannibal can see the fear in his eyes. Piper, calm and unruffled as always holding onto the picture of the baby girl he’s never met. Sharkie, black eyes unreadable as he crouches in the dirt like a coiled spring. And, Hannibal’s stomach heaves with fresh guilt, Face, leaning up against a rock, his eyes fixed on his CO, just waiting for Hannibal to sort all this out. Ever since Hannibal gave him that second chance in his first week, Face has looked at him like he’s some kind of fucking god. It’s unnerved Hannibal before today, but now, when Hannibal knows full well he’s got his boys into this mess, it’s inappropriate in the highest degree. It’s the kid’s first trip out with them. Hannibal has kept him sidelined for three months, wanted to be sure he could trust him, wanted to be sure the kid was ready. Turns out it’s a bit of a mistake; the kid isn’t ready, not for death. But then, thinks Hannibal, who is?

 

He makes the only decision he can. “Rights boys, we are moving out...” Bunter breathes a sigh of relief while everyone else seems to tense even more. “Each man will move independently, stay to the sides, use any cover you can, and just keep moving. Once we leave here we’ll be vulnerable.”

 

“We’ll be sitting ducks, sir...”

 

Hannibal can tell Jonno is trying not to be disrespectful so he takes a deep breath before turning to answer. “There’s no other choice, Jon. We stay here we’re dead.”

 

“We should take them out...”

 

This, Hannibal had expected. “You can do that? Cleanly? All three before they get behind cover and just radio our position back to their boss?”

 

Jonno shakes his head and Hannibal sighs. “I thought not. We’re moving out. Get ready.”

 

There is movement and muttering all around him as his men turn to check their packs, but then a single voice stands out. “I can, sir.”

 

Silence falls, thick and heavy as every man freezes and turns to look at Face. Hannibal doesn’t speak.

 

“No way...” this is Bunter. “I know you are good, but no one can make that shot. You need three direct hits one after the other, bam, bam, bam otherwise we’ll just be running up a big target above our heads!”

 

Face is unperturbed, “I can do it.”

 

“No!!” Bunter’s eyes are wide as he turns to his CO, “He can’t boss, it must be half a mile to the mark, there’s a wind coming up the gully and if he misses then they will drop out of sight and radio us in! It’s suicide!”

 

“Better than being sitting ducks...” Jonno mutters.

 

“Bunter’s right,” Piper puts in, “The kid can’t do this, it would lose us our only advantage.”

 

“Yeah Hannibal,” Sharkie agrees, “we move out.”

 

Face ignores them all and keeps his eyes on his CO. “I can do this boss,” he repeats.

 

“Hannibal!” Bunter entreats.

 

“Quiet!” Hannibal barks and everyone falls silent. He looks at Face for a long time, weighing him up, considering the options. “Bunter’s right,” he eventually says, “you miss, then you screw the only chance we have of getting out.

 

Face nods. “I know. But I won’t miss.”

 

“You sure of that?”

 

Nod.

 

“All three?”

 

Nod.

 

Two minutes of silence.

 

“Okay kid, you’re on.”

 

“Hannibal! Sir! You have got to be kidding-” Bunter is silenced with a look while Face starts getting his gear ready. 

 

The tension in the air is choking. Hannibal and Face edge back up to the top of the boulder while the others, packs ready to move out in a hurry, wait down below.

 

“I’m relying on you here kid,” Hannibal mutters as Face squints through his sights, “If you aren’t 100% sure, then don’t take the shot.”

 

“I got it, boss,” Face mutters, adjusting his grip and shuffling flatter onto his stomach.

 

Hannibal looks long and hard at him, then turns and raises his binoculars to the mark, “In your own time then, Face.”

 

He can see the three guards. They are standing together at the head of the gully, only their chests and upwards visible behind the covering rocks. They are attentive, but relaxed, not expecting any attack, but keeping a watchful eye out to see if they can spot the hiding Americans. Two of them are smoking while the third casually toys with his radio.

 

Face is suddenly deathly still beside him and Hannibal knows he is going to make the shot, he almost loses his nerve there and then, almost grabs the kid and aborts the mission. Almost but not quite. Instead he flicks the record button on the binoculars and starts streaming to the hard drive.

 

It’s all over in a fraction of a second. The sounds of the shots echo up and down the gully while the three guards drop almost instantaneously behind the rocks. But it’s too quick, Hannibal couldn’t see if the shots found their mark or not, he and Face quickly slide back down the boulder and drop to the ground while Hannibal frantically hits the reply button on the binoculars, reviewing the hits.

 

“There were only two!” Bunter’s frantic voice buffets Hannibal’s concentration, “There were only two fucking shots Face! You missed one!”

 

Hannibal glances up to find Face on his knees, skin grey and waxy while he dry heaves over the dirt.

 

“There were loads!” This is Jonno, “We all heard them, man!”

 

“They were fucking echoes!” Bunter sounds apoplectic, “He’s fucking missed!”

 

Hannibal reviews the film and his heart starts pounding against his ribs, unwilling to take in what he can see. He tunes the bickering out and reviews the film once more.

 

“Why do you think he’s puking Jonno!” Sharkie sounds almost as mad as Bunter, “It’s because he knows he’s screwed up!”

 

Face is scrabbling for a drink now, hands shaking as he tries to unstop the seal on his bottle.

 

“Fucking hell, boss, he’s just a boy! Why’d you let him do this to us?”

 

“Stop!” Hannibal knows his own hands are shaking as he lets the binoculars drop to his side, “He got them. All three.”

 

There is a moment’s stunned silence.

 

“But...” Bunter looks to where Face is still kneeling in the dirt, “there were only two shots...”

 

Hannibal holds the binoculars out to his XO, “He got two with one bullet...” he whispers, still not quite believing his own eyes.

 

Bunter grabs the binoculars off his boss and holds them up to his eyes as Hannibal reaches over to rub Face’s still heaving back, the adrenalin ripping out of him, “Take it easy there, kid, you did a fucking top job...”

 

“Jesus Christ...” Bunter breathes as he reviews the evidence for himself.

 

“Saddle up boys,” Hannibal takes hold of Face’s arm and heaves him to his feet, “We’re not out of this shit yet. Let’s go before the posse arrive.”

 

“Holy fuck...” it’s Piper’s turn with the binoculars and his words ring in Hannibal’s ears as he steers his lieutenant round the base of the rock, the first steps back to safety. Holy fuck indeed... just what did he have on his hands here?

 

..4..

Hannibal signs off the last sheet and tips back in his chair, glancing at the clock. Eleven fifteen. He’s probably just got chance for a quick scotch and then he’ll have to turn in, everyone is up for an early run in the morning. It’s been a shit day at the end of a shitty week and Hannibal is really looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep. He thinks he might need it, it’s Face’s birthday tomorrow and no doubt it will be a heavy night.

 

Hannibal pours his scotch and kicks back in his chair, his mind wandering to his second lieutenant. He has to admit, the kid’s not been as bad as he first feared. Sure, he’s no angel, but looking at the stuff in his file, theft, vandalism, whoring around, an explosive temper that always seems to end in violence, hell, even drug pushing, the minor misdemeanours he’s been up to with Hannibal are nothing. And they are getting less, he’s growing up, becoming a bit more responsible, the other guys have accepted him, and Hannibal can see shit loads of potential. That fucking amazing shot he took in Somalia? Hannibal is sure that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

 

He wonders what the boys have got in store for him for his birthday; it’s bound to be something pretty wild, they seem to outdo themselves every time. He swirls the scotch round and round the base of his glass, watching the shades of amber as they pitch and turn. According to his file, Face will be twenty four tomorrow, but Hannibal doesn’t buy that, not at all. He suspects he’s younger, much younger and joined up early to escape... what? Again the file says he’s an orphan (when Hannibal realised, he felt like shit for the comments he made about Face’s ‘mom’ back in that first week) a foundling who grew up in various orphanages around LA. Is that what he was trying to get away from? Or was he just eager to strike out on his own? Hannibal is slightly concerned that this bothers him so. He really shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about it.

 

He finishes his scotch and sits up in his chair once more. But he can’t deny he pleased with the kid. Pleased that he listens to Hannibal, pleased he’s toned down the violence, is keeping his temper in check. It gives Hannibal a warm feeling to realise how far he’s coming with this kid and he thinks it all might just work out for the best.

 

However, no sooner is that thought in his head, then his peace is shattered by a sharp rap on the door. Hannibal glances up; good news never knocks like that and shouts, “Yes?”

 

The door opens and Hannibal’s chest tightens as Face is shoved in by two MPs. He’s fully dressed but soaked to the skin, wrists handcuffed together and battered and bruised all over.

 

“What the fuck?” Hannibal spits as Face keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

 

“One of yours sir?” the taller of the MPs asks and Hannibal nods tersely in reply. “Fighting, sir, in the shower block. Him and three from the visiting 3rd Infantry. One has ended up in the Med unit.”

 

A fierce pain lances through Hannibal’s ribs at those words and he folds his arms tightly across his chest, feeling the disappointment swirl up inside him, “Fucking hell, Face... Really?”

 

Face doesn’t lift his eyes, “Yes, sir...”

 

All Hannibal’s hopes and expectations for this kid suddenly crash down around his ears. “Does nothing I ever say make the smallest bit of difference to you? Don’t you care that you are pissing a promising career down the drain?”

 

Face hangs his head in silence.

 

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

 

“Sorry sir?” Face looks genuinely confused which does nothing for Hannibal’s temper.

 

“Tonight, Face! In the shower block! What was so important that you felt the need to attack three of 3rd Infantry’s finest?”

 

That old anger is back in Face’s eyes, “And how do you know it was me boss? How do you know I started it?”

 

That brings Hannibal up short, “You saying they attacked you, kid?”

 

Beat.

 

“No, sir…”

 

“So it _was_ you.”

 

Silence.

 

Suddenly Hannibal has had enough. He’s invested six months in this kid, worked hard to keep him on the right path, built up his self confidence, made sure he’s had a chance to get on and prove himself without Sanders in his face, and this is what he gets. Hannibal realises that some things will never change, it doesn’t matter what he says to this kid, what he does, Face will always do this, will always tip off the deep end for no real reason, disappoint him, let him down. And Hannibal can’t stand it. He wants, more than anything else in the world, for this kid to make something of himself, fulfil his massive potential. But now he realises its just not going to happen, and Hannibal doesn’t think he has the stomach to sit around and watch the carnage.

 

His voice is low and deadly, “I told you, you would only ever get one chance with me, kid. And now you’ve blown it.”

 

Face looks up, horror evident on his face, made all the more striking because of the dripping bloody nose and the swollen purpling eye.

 

“I’m not interested in you any more, you’re an arrogant little shit who only thinks of himself! Have you _any_ idea how much I’ve put on the line for you these last six months? How I have tied my reputation so tightly with yours? Don’t you see that when you fuck up, you not only drag yourself down, you drag your unit down with you?!” Hannibal’s eyes are blazing with fury. “I have other boys that I am responsible for, boys who do care about their job and their team and their reputations. Reputations that your casual disregard for the rules of this unit is destroying! Well, you’ve fucked up one time too many lieutenant. And I’ve been stupid enough to be taken in by your charm and your pretty face and the hope that you might just turn out to be something more than an unwanted little delinquent who’s just crawled out the gutter!”

 

Face is literally shocked into silence as he stares, eyes wide and horrified at his CO.

 

Hannibal looks to the MPs, “Take him to the stockade, boys, I’m finished with him.” Then he turns away.

 

For a second no one moves, even the MPs are a little taken aback by Hannibal’s vitriol, but within a moment they recollect themselves and reach out to haul Face away.

 

Face is starring at the back of Hannibal’s head, shock written all over him as he is dragged back towards the door. “Boss…” Hannibal is appalled at how pathetic he sounds, but he hardens himself against it, “Please…”

 

Hannibal doesn’t turn. “Get him out,” he barks at the MPs, “He’s dripping blood on the floor!”

 

Face stumbles as he is dragged towards the door, but Hannibal doesn’t even notice.

 

______________________

 

Three Days Later

 

Hannibal is at his desk again, all the paper work for Face’s court martial laid out in front of him. All it needs now is one more signature, one name signed on a line and that will effectively be the end of Face’s military career. He pauses and stares at the empty line.

 

Should he do this? Is that what the kid deserves?

 

Of course it is. He should have known better than to have got involved. Should have thrown him out after six weeks like he said he would.

 

But then he thinks of other times, the way the kid used to look at him like he was Jesus in khakis, the way his whole face used to glow when he smiled, he way he tilted his head to one side when he was really listening hard... the way he sounded as the MPs dragged him away...

 

Hannibal drops his head and rubs his eyes. Maybe it would be kinder to try and bump the kid onto another unit, there must be someone out there who can succeed where he has failed. But with a heavy heart he realises that that is just delaying the inevitable. McGrath was right, Hannibal is good with boys like this one, and if he can’t sort him out. Well...

 

He needs to face facts here. Face is a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow. It’s only a matter of time before he loses his temper big style and kills someone; the last Hannibal has heard Pvt. Kaplinski, that boy from Third Infantry, is still in the Med Unit, three days after the fight in the shower block…

 

He picks up his pen.

 

The knock at the door interrupts him and he pauses, nib over the signature line as he calls, “Come in…”

 

The door swings slowly open and a young soldier walks in, Hannibal quickly takes in his bruised face and the arm in a sling before spotting the insignia of the 3rd Infantry on his cap and quickly realises who this must be. He puts his pen down and rises to his feet, extending a hand across the desk. “Sit down son, you must be Private Kaplinski,”

 

The young Private nods and takes the seat offered to him, looking very much overawed to be in the office of the almost legendary Major Hannibal Smith.

 

“How can I help you?” Hannibal is polite but guarded. If this boy is here to make a complaint about Face then this is not how it is done. There are official channels for this and Hannibal doesn’t want to get into this conversation _at all_.

 

“It’s about the incident in the shower block the other night sir…” the Pvt. flushes bright red at this and Hannibal has to hold in his sigh of annoyance.

 

“Look son, this is not how we do things here. Any complaints you might want to make about Lt. Peck should be made in writing to-”

 

“No!”

 

Hannibal is cut short by the Pvt.’s  interruption and is stunned into silence.

 

“No, sir,” Pvt. Kaplinski amends flushing a deeper shade of red, “It’s not like that - I just need to tell you what happened. If that’s okay with you sir…”

 

Hannibal sighs again. He’s not really sure he needs to hear this, and he’s absolutely certain he doesn’t _want_ to. But then, well, it is going to court martial so Hannibal supposes it’s an unpleasant necessity. He sits back in his chair and nods at the Pvt. to continue.

 

Pvt. Kaplinski takes a deep breath, Hannibal can see him actually shaking, and then he starts to relate his story.

_______________________

 

Twenty minutes later Hannibal is walking into Face’s holding cell.

 

Face looks up from where he is laid on the cot and starts to drag himself up to attention. Hannibal is uncomfortably reminded of six months ago, in another holding cell, on the other side of the world… This time, however, Face never makes it to his feet, he sways as he stands and Hannibal reaches for him, grabbing his bicep with one hand and his shoulder with the other.

 

“Don’t...”

 

With lightening fast reactions, Face shoves him away, the heel of his hand painfully hard in Hannibal’s sternum. Hannibal lets go and Face falls, hitting the side of the cot with his ribs on his way down.

 

He lies on the floor, one arm resting on the wooden cot and Hannibal can see he is biting back the pain even though every breath is obvious agony.

 

He gives him a moment to catch his breath, he’s not going to make the mistake of trying to help again, and takes the chance to look his lieutenant over.

 

It’s not a pretty sight.

 

Face is wearing the same clothes he had on when he was hauled into Hannibal’s office three days ago. The dried blood all over the front of his t-shirt a reminder of his bloody nose; his eye, no longer swollen and purple but puffy and black, bruising spreading right down to meet a cut on his cheekbone.

 

He’s unwashed and dishevelled, three days of stubble over his face and Hannibal feels the uncomfortable wash of guilt sweep over him. He’s going to have strong words with the MPs. Surely prisoners have some basic rights to hygiene and medical attention? It’s obvious that no one has even looked at the injuries that Face sustained in the fight. It’s almost like they threw him in here and forgot about him.

 

A minute ticks by and Face manages to haul himself back onto the cot, pushing aside the rough woollen blanket that has been his only comfort for the last three days as he does so.

 

“At ease,” Hannibal tells him, not willing to force him into trying to stand again just yet, and he can see the relief on the kid’s face as he lets himself sag against the wall.

 

Hannibal moves to stand directly in front of him. “I’ve just had Pvt. Kaplinski in my office;” Face’s eyes shift up to meet his for the briefest of moments before they are back, glued to the floor. Hannibal lets out a long sigh, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me what really happened in that shower block, kid?”

 

“I didn’t get much of a chance…” Face replies, the murderous tone to his voice clearly evident.

 

Hannibal is instantly transported back six months into the company of an angry and disaffected young man on the brink of being discharged from the army and it makes him realise what a colossal set back to them both this is. He’s been so concerned over the last few days dwelling on how Face has let him down, betrayed his trust, disappointed him, that it never even crossed his mind that maybe Face was feeling the exact same way. That maybe the CO who should have believed in him, given him a chance to explain himself, vouched for him, had instead turned on him violently, in an instant, and then threw him out.

 

He fears that all the progress Face has made, all the progress they have made together, is going to be wiped out by his one uncharacteristically rash reaction.

 

What is it about this kid that just pushes all his buttons?

 

He sits down on the cot, as far away from Face as possible and rubs a tired hand round the back of his neck, “In fairness, Face, I did ask you what happened and if I remember correctly you didn’t answer.”

 

“Wasn’t my story to tell,” Face mutters, sitting himself up a little straighter.

 

“Jesus, Face! That’s not a decision that you could make or Kaplinski could make! He was _raped_ by those motherfuckers for Christ’s sake, you knew that, you _saw_ it! It was your responsibility to do something about it!”

 

Face lifts his head to shoot a cold look at his CO, “I did do something about it…”

 

Hannibal exhales, “I’m not talking vigilante stuff here! You’re a goddammed officer; you should have done something official!”

 

“Those shits needed teaching a lesson. If I’d gone for the MPs by the time I got back it would have been all over and it would only have been their word against the Pvt.’s. Plus Kaplinski didn’t want it reporting, didn’t want everyone to know what they had done.”

 

“Right…” Hannibal is trying, really hard, to sit on his temper, “So a broken jaw and a few cracked ribs will teach them better then? They won’t just try it on Kaplinski again or some other poor sod just as soon as you are out the way?”

 

Face returns to looking at the floor as Hannibal takes a deep breath and lets it out, long and slow.

 

“Face… Kid,” he shakes his head, “You would have been out on a dishonourable discharge if Kaplinski hadn’t decided to man-up and do the right thing here.”

 

Face shrugs.

 

“That doesn’t bother you? You would lose your career? Your unit? Your friends? You would let me think that you had betrayed my trust all for the sake of some shit scared Private who would actually be better off if he told the truth?”

 

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Face repeats.

 

Hannibal realises he’s getting nowhere and rises slowly to his feet. He stares at Face’s bent head for what feels like an eternity before he speaks.  “Come on…” he instructs, his voice tired.

 

Face looks up at him, “Where?”

 

“Back to your quarters of course, I need Piper to look you over, it seems like the motherfuckers got a couple of good cracks in themselves.”

 

Face doesn’t move. “But… what about the charges?”

 

Hannibal looks him in the eye, “There will be no charges kid. This is over as far as I am concerned.”

 

There’s a beat of silence.

 

“Unless you want to stay here?”

 

For a heart stopping moment, Hannibal thinks Face is going to take him up on that, but then he drops his gaze and struggles to his feet, one arm clamped around his ribs, and starts to shuffle towards the door.

 

Hannibal touches his shoulder as he passes, and Face stops, the anger and resentment in his expression plain to see as he meets Hannibal’s gaze. Regret tugs at his resolve, but Hannibal knows that regret is a useless emotion and they will just have to try and work through all this. Starting right now.  

 

“Never again Face…” he warns. “You need to be straight with me, you need to be honest with me. I can’t second guess your every move, you know.”

 

Face nods tersely and heads for the door.

 

As they walk in silence, heading out to find Piper, Hannibal thinks over those first impressions of Face yet again.

 

Reckless? Definitely.

 

But Selfish? No, certainly not. And that has almost been the kid’s undoing.

 

..5..

 

Hannibal’s head is pounding and threatening to spilt wide open; he closes his eyes and opens them again, trying to persuade his fuzzy vision to clear so that he can assess just how much shit he is in. He’s kneeling in the damp jungle undergrowth, wrists fastened together and tied securely to a tree behind him. A quick physical inventory reveals that, apart from the pounding head, he’s in pretty good physical shape.

 

The same cannot be said about Bunter. Hannibal’s gut clenches unpleasantly as he takes in the still form of his XO slumped five meters or so to his left. He too is tied roughly to a tree, but his fatigues are soaked in blood, and insects swarm and buzz around him. His skin is pale, sweat standing out on his face, but Hannibal is relieved to see the slight rise and fall of his chest as he struggles for every laborious breath.

 

Hannibal lets his head fall back against the damp bark of the tree as he marshals his thoughts and tries to remember how he ended up here. He remembered the mission, kidnapped aid workers, one the nephew of some anonymous European royal, being held somewhere in the Cambodian rain forest. His team had been here two weeks, had located the hostages, Hannibal screws up his eyes as he tries to pin down the facts, yes, he’s sure they were all free, he’s sure they were retreating… So what went wrong?

 

His eyes open again as the details come back. Yes, they were retreating. Hannibal and Bunter were bringing up the rear when Bunter went down, shots in his thigh, and Hannibal went back to help him. And that’s all he’s got. He can’t remember any more, doesn’t know how he ended up tied to this tree with a monster headache, or what happened to the rest of the team or the hostages. He looks around the rainforest, but the foliage is too dense, he can’t see anyone else or any sign of human life anywhere around him, but it’s actually difficult to see more than three meters into the jungle in any direction.

 

He hopes that means that the others got away. Hopes they have enough sense to keep going and get the hostages to safety. Hopes Piper will keep the rest of his men focussed and moving in the face of this FUBAR. Sharkie, Jonno and Face are all very young, all very inexperienced, and Hannibal knows that Piper will struggle to keep them going, but the mission has to come first.

 

And he and Bunter? Well, they will bide their time, and take their chances when they come. But Hannibal is worried that his XO is just bleeding out all over the jungle and he knows that there is no way in hell, even if a chance to escape _does_ come his way, that he will be able to carry his injured companion for the three days it would take them to hike out of this shit hole. It’s not looking good.

 

At some point, Hannibal realises he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knows is snapping back into awareness as the sounds of crashing vegetation fill his consciousness. He bites back the panic and forces himself to relax, taking it all in, storing it all away. There are five of them, obviously the Khmer Rouge kidnappers and Hannibal can tell from their faces and body language, that at least some of his team and their charges have escaped.

 

Despite his own dire situation, he cannot contain the flare of joy that jumps in his chest. He thinks of Piper, Jonno and Sharkie, all excellent soldiers and excellent men. He hopes they make it back safe, they deserve it. And Face... Hannibal registers that strange little swooping feeling he gets in his chest every time he thinks about his lieutenant and tries to justify it as regret, of maybe a bit of guilt.

 

Ever since the incident in the shower block, Face has been a stranger to him. The friendship that was just starting to build between the two of them is gone, shattered by Face’s reluctance to trust his CO and Hannibal’s horrific over reaction. Hannibal shakes his head as the memory of his hastily conceived words burns in his mind. He’s been at a loss as to how he can fix this situation between him and Face, and now it appears that his time has run out. He wonders if Face will mourn the loss of a chance to repair their mistakes as much as he does...  

 

His dry throat tightens and he can’t suppress a cough. The kidnappers turn to him as one, two of their number rising from their crouched positions and making their way towards him across the little clearing. Hannibal can clearly identify the leader; he looks the most pissed off of the five, blood smeared all across his face and neck and a black bandana tied around his head. He spits at Hannibal and barks a couple of sentences out, but Hannibal doesn’t speak a word of Khmer, so contents himself with a smirk in reply.

 

The smirk earns him a sharp backhand across the face, making his head pound even harder and his ears ring. By the time his vision clears again, the guerrillas are huddled together at the far side of the clearing, muttering intently together. Hannibal watches them carefully, tries to learn from their body language what he can’t from their speech, and waits, with ultimate patience, for the one chance he will need to get free.

 

He is working his hands constantly, twisting, turning, trying to get just that little bit of freedom that he can work with, but so far nothing is helping. He’s still tightly bound, and so he forces himself to keep calm and keep trying.

 

The thick black jungle night comes and goes twice. Hannibal aches all over from sitting immobile for so long. At some point in the first dark night, he heard Bunter regain consciousness, somewhere off to his left, but Hannibal’s efforts to talk to his XO only resulted in them both being gagged. The gags are removed a few times a day and water poured into their mouths, but that is the only sustenance they have had. Hannibal supposes the water is a good sign. It means that the Khmer Rouge obviously want to keep them alive. But for how long? Hannibal hopes they may try and ransom their two US Army hostages. He knows that the Government will never agree to a ransom, but at least it means that they will be kept alive long enough for a rescue attempt to come.

 

And Hannibal knows it will. He knows that Piper will do the right thing, will get the hostages to safety and then will give the brass every scrap of information he has on Hannibal’s last known position. But it won’t be Piper or any of his team that comes for them, no, he’s almost certain of that. Someone else, Marines perhaps, will get the job. Piper and the others are far too inexperienced to do this on their own, and Hannibal is glad. He’s sick to the stomach with worry over Bunter at the minute without having to worry about any of his other boys.

 

But at the back of his mind Hannibal knows that none of that will happen if his team don’t make it back to base alive.

 

The guerrillas leave them alone for long stretches in the day. They are obviously content that their captives aren’t going anywhere soon and so disappear for hours at a time. Patrolling, Hannibal supposes, hoping against hope that their original hostages are somewhere close by, or maybe just paranoid that there are more Rangers out there, just waiting to come back for their buddies.

 

It’s late afternoon and they are alone in the clearing again. Hannibal is listening to Bunter’s ragged breathing and the assorted sounds of the rainforest when he hears a sound over to his right. His eyes flick into the foliage and within a minute he can just make out the outline of a man, creeping forward. His heart speeds up. This is definitely not one of his captors, they seem to have no fear of being seen or heard anywhere around this clearing, Hannibal can hear them coming for miles. This person, whoever it is, does not want to be noticed.

 

Hannibal drops his head, pretends to be asleep but keeps his eyes on the approaching figure. He’s moving stealthily, hardly making a sound now, and Hannibal is glad that Bunter is sleeping; hopefully it will keep his XO safe. The figure is right at the edge of the clearing and crouches, waiting, listening, watching. Long minutes pass, but suddenly the figure seems to decide it is safe. With one last glance around, he breaks free from the foliage and sprints across the clearing, dropping to Hannibal’s side and reaching up for the gag.

 

“Jesus, Christ, Face!” Hannibal’s voice is dry and scratchy, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Face is grimy, his skin barely visible through the dirt and he stinks of sweat and rotting vegetation but an easy and natural smile breaks across his face. “Hey, boss, good to see you too. You miss me?”

 

His tone is flippant, but his eyes are deadly serious as his fingers skim over Hannibal in the gloom of the jungle, checking him out, lingering at the bloody mess of matted hair on the side of his head.

 

Hannibal is almost speechless. The thought had comforted him through his long vigil in the jungle, that his other boys, that _Face_ , had got away, that he was safe. But now… He is almost thrown into a panic. “Where are the others?” he hisses, “What does Piper think he’s doing coming back here with the hostages?

 

Face reaches into his pockets and brings out a glucose bar, breaking it up and dropping the pieces into Hannibal’s mouth as he replies. “Piper’s not here. He took a whack with a machete on his head, should be okay but he’s badly concussed. Jonno and Sharkie are taking him back with the hostages. I moved out with them for a day then turned and headed back here.”

 

Hannibal swallows the chunks of glucose down, almost choking himself in his haste, “You came back alone?”  His incredulity is obvious, “I can’t believe Piper let you!”

 

Face glances up at his CO as he searches about in his pack bringing out a water bottle, “Told you boss, Piper’s really out of it. He’s not in charge. I am,” Hannibal opens his mouth to hiss his outrage but then the bottle of water is tipped in and he has to concentrate on drinking and not choking. He’s sure Face timed that to perfection.

 

Bunter moans slightly and Face glances over then back to Hannibal, “Listen, boss,” and this time Hannibal can see the fear in his eyes, the concentration, the determination, “I only have a minute here, those assholes are on their way back,” he lowers the bottle and scoots over to Bunter. “I just needed to check you both out, see how you were,” he’s running his fingers over his XO; frowning at the bloody mess his legs are in. He glances back at Hannibal, “You think you can walk?”

 

Hannibal nods and the relief is clear in the kid’s eyes. “Great, ‘cos Bunt here isn’t gonna…” Face has pulled a syringe from his pack and is busy shooting something into Bunter’s arm.

 

“Face…” Hannibal can hardly speak around the terror in his throat, “you need to get out of here, kid, you can’t do this, you shouldn’t have split from the others! There are five of them you know-”      

 

“Six,” Face interrupts, “They always leave one guy about two hundred metres south east of here, near the bridge over the river,” he’s shooting another syringe into Bunter’s arm.

 

Hannibal swallows his panic, “I am ordering you Lieutenant! You need to leave the area _immediately_ and regroup with-”

 

Suddenly Face is back, right up in Hannibal’s face, his lips so close that Hannibal can almost taste his words, “Hannibal, listen to me. They have been deciding what they are gonna do with you, I was happy to wait for reinforcements, you know, just watch and keep out the way, but,” he pauses and licks his lips nervously, “they’ve decided that it’s too risky to keep you, they’re gonna kill you both, tomorrow, as soon as their boss has had chance for a little ‘chat’, you know?” Hannibal knows. “That’s why I have to move in, can’t let them do that…”

 

He doesn’t move. He’s so close and Hannibal’s heart is pounding painfully against his ribs, “You could get killed…” he whispers.

 

Face doesn’t miss a beat, “Worth it to save you,”

 

They stare at each other.

 

“How do you know their plans?” Hannibal asks, breaking the intensity of the moment.

 

“I heard them discussing it,” Face is back to business, back over with Bunter, trying to drip water into his mouth.

 

“You speak Khmer?” Again the incredulous tone.

 

“Yeah,” Face throws over another easy grin, “I thought it might come in handy.”

 

Hannibal opens his mouth to speak, but both men freeze at the distant sounds of disturbed vegetation. “They’re back…” Face hisses, shoving the bottle in his pack and scrambling back towards his CO. He lifts the gag once more, pushing it into Hannibal’s mouth and Hannibal can feel his fingers, gentle but firm, smoothing the sides of the rag, making it lie flat, trying to make it as comfortable as he possibly can. “I’ll be back,” he whispers right into Hannibal’s ear, and then he is gone, melting silently into the jungle.

 

A couple of hours pass and the daylight is starting to fade. Hannibal has spent the last two hours almost thrumming with anxiety. It was bad enough that he had Bunter to worry about, but now there is Face as well, and that’s twice as bad. Face is so young, too young, and he’s rash, reckless and irresponsible. He never thinks ahead, never plans, never considers… He’s going to get them all killed…

 

But if he’s right, and the Khmer Rouge are going to kill them in the morning anyway, then what difference does it make?

 

Still the anxiety doesn’t fade, and at the back of his mind, Hannibal knows why. He knows that somehow and for some unfathomable reason, Face is working his way into the very fabric of Hannibal’s being. And if it were Face he has to watch die in a few short hours, he knows he’ll never be able to go on.

 

As it is, Hannibal doesn’t have to wait anywhere near as long as he had thought for Face to make his move. He had presumed his lieutenant would wait for the blackness of the jungle night, but it is still barely dark when he hears distant crashing in the undergrowth up ahead of the camp.

 

The guerrillas, who are crouched together eating, hear it too and leap to their feet, brandishing their guns and whispering frantically to each other. Hannibal’s’ blood turns to ice. What the hell is Face thinking of making such a racket? Hasn’t Hannibal taught him better than that? Surely he can remember even the basic rules of covert operations? He goes back to struggling against his bonds.

 

After much heated whispering and pointing, the guerrillas move out. Hannibal senses a movement beside him and looks round as Bunter blinks his tired and confused eyes in Hannibal’s direction. He struggles against the gag that Face had placed in his mouth and manages to spit it out, hissing at his XO through the darkness, “It’s Face, Bunt. He’s gonna try and get us out. Can you move?”

 

He sees the same shock on Bunter’s face that he is sure had been on his own when Face had turned up that afternoon, but his XO only nods and starts to struggle up into a sitting position. Hannibal turns his head towards the now silent jungle and continues the desperate wrestle with his bonds. If he can only get free then maybe he can help; maybe then Face won’t have to die out here in the jungle tonight.

 

Suddenly shots ring out in the night and Hannibal and Bunter exchange worried looks. Hannibal can hear screaming and shouting, and then an orange flare rises up in the gloom of the jungle in front of him. It’s so bright that Hannibal has to clamp his eyes shut, but even then he can still see it through his closed lids. The heat reaches his cheeks and he thinks that the whole damn rainforest is on fire but then it dies back to a dull glow and he realises that the gun fire and the shouting and the screaming have all stopped and his stomach heaves as he wonders if that means that Face is dead...

 

There’s no sign of the guerrillas as Hannibal writhes against his bonds for what feels like the hundredth time. He knows the skin around his wrists is torn, but he doesn’t care, he just needs to get free, he just needs to find Face. He looks over at Bunter and sees his eyes, wide and horrified, starring out into the jungle and Hannibal whips round to see where he’s looking.

 

A figure has crashed out of the foliage, the orange glow behind him making him a silhouette, the black outline of a machete standing out above his head. Hannibal’s’ struggles go into over drive, it seems the Khmer Rouge have decided not to wait till the morning to finish off their guests. As the figure gets closer, Hannibal realises that the cords on his wrists are never going to budge and so he leans backwards onto the small of his back, transferring all his weight off his legs, preparing to strike, drawing his feet off the ground. He can kick out pretty well from this angle; maybe even break the bastard’s neck. He tenses, waiting, if he’s going out, he’s sure as hell going to take some of them out with him...

 

“Move, boss, I need to cut those ropes...”

 

Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat as he recognises the voice and throws himself forward to give Face access to his wrists, “What happened?” he hisses, pain flaring and burning as Face yanks at his arms.

 

“All dead...” Face mutters and Hannibal can hear the cold and barely contained horror in his voice, “Blew the fuckers up...”

 

Hannibal groans in pain as he is at last released, and rolls onto his stomach in the mud. And that’s when he realises. Face hadn’t been crashing about in the jungle like an amateur. Oh, no, it was far more elegant than that. He’d set a trap, thought it through, drawn the guerrillas right where he wanted them. Clever little bastard. He drags himself up onto his knees just as Face crashes out of the jungle once more, this time pulling a homemade litter behind him; he drops it down next to Bunter and starts dragging him onto it, ready to move out.

 

Never thinks ahead? Never plans? Never considers?

 

Looks like Hannibal might have been wrong again... 

 

..And 1..

 

It feels strange to be back Hannibal muses as the jeep drops him at his quarters. He allows the driver to bring his kit bag in, returns the sharp salute and then he is alone. He’s been away three weeks, bit of medical leave after the almost disastrous Cambodia job. By the time he, Face and Bunter had reached the pickup point that Face and Jonno had planned together, Hannibal had been on the verge of collapse.

 

But after a week he’d felt fine, it was good to have a bit of R&R and a chance to visit Bunter whose leg was still in a bad way, but since then he’s just been desperate to get back to his boys.

 

He wanders over to his desk and starts flicking through the envelopes and memos waiting for his attention. He needs to head over and see his boys just as soon as he can. He’s always proud of them, but what they all did on that last mission... proud just doesn’t seem to cover it. Sharkie and Jonno got all the hostages out safely, just about carried Piper most of the way between them. And Face... Hannibal shakes his head, well, he and that kid certainly need to have a conversation. It’s about time Face learns what Hannibal _really_ thinks about him.

 

The name on a memo catches his eye and he picks it off the pile and scans through it, his eyes darkening with every word. Suddenly his good mood evaporates. The memo is crumpled up in his fist as he throws his beret down onto the desk and storms out of the door.

 

Hannibal is pacing. He hates been made to wait and he is sure that this is a deliberate strategy just to try and piss him off. He reaches the wall of the office and spins on his heel again facing the door. Five more minutes, he fumes, five more minutes and he’s going to go looking for that son of a bitch himself. But then the door swings open and Colonel Sol Sanders strolls in, beaming at Hannibal as he does.

 

“Smith! Glad to hear you are up and about again,” his false smile is replaced by a look of false concern instead, “Heard about the SNAFU that was Cambodia...” he shakes his head, “you must be losing that golden touch of yours...”

 

Hannibal ignores the blatant dig, he’s got far more important things to sort out here, “Cut the crap, Sanders,” he growls, “what the fuck do you think you are doing poaching my lieutenant like that?”

 

Sanders raises his eyebrows, “Your lieutenant? Hmm, I think you may have your facts a little confused here Smith. It seems that in your reluctance to let him into your exclusive boys-own adventure club, you never actually got around to completing the necessary paper work.” Sanders smiles his thin and snarky smile again, “So it appears that he never actually joined your unit at all Smith. He’s mine and he always has been.”

 

There is something in Sanders’ tone that sets Hannibal’s nerves on edge but he can’t quite place what. “You were eager enough to get rid of him before though.”

 

Sanders shrugs, “I didn’t think he’d last. Thought you’d run out of patience with him soon enough and they he would either be out, or back with me.”

 

Hannibal narrows his eyes, “And why is that so important then? Why do you care where he is?”

 

He sees Sanders tense, “You said it yourself, Smith, he’s a cancer, spreading through this army, poisoning everything he touches. And like a cancer he needs destroying. Cutting into little pieces and disposing of, and I am the one to do it...”

 

Hannibal’s chest tightens. He’s never liked Sanders, always thought he was an idiot, but now he’s beginning to wonder if he’s not actually a little unhinged...

 

He shakes his head and tries to calm the situation down a notch, “Sol,” his tone is placating, “he’s just a boy. Sure he’s made mistakes, but who hasn’t? But he’s coming on, making great progress, and he’s got shit loads of potential.”

 

“Ah!” Sanders draws himself up to his full height, eyes flashing dangerously, “I see what’s happened here, never would have put you down as being such an easy mark Smith...”

 

“What?”

 

“Got you good and proper hasn’t he? What did he do? Shake his ass in your face in the field? Or just get on his knees and blow you one night after a job?”

 

Hannibal’s eyes widen, “You have got to be kidding me...”

 

“No... I can see it in your eyes. That boy is a born whore, _that’s_ the only thing he’s good at and he’s obviously using it to keep you on a pretty short leash here!”

 

Hannibal opens his mouth to protest, but suddenly everything clicks into place, “He’s refused you.”

 

It’s Sanders’ turn to frown, “What?” he exclaims, “I don’t know what you are on about Smith! I-”

 

Hannibal steps forward and jabs his finger in Sanders’ chest, “You made a move on him back in Basic Training and he blew you off didn’t he? Told you where to go, told you he wasn’t interested...”

 

Sanders takes a step back, his mouth open like a fish, “I-” but Hannibal follows him.

 

“And that’s why you’ve been out to get him ever since, making his life a fucking _misery_ , tracking him every step of the way, kicking him every chance you got, turning everyone else against him!” Hannibal is furious, “And for what? Because he dented your fucking ego?!”

 

Hannibal’s finger is still jabbing into Sanders’ chest and Sanders swipes it away, leaning right into Hannibal’s face, “I am his Commanding Officer...” he hisses, “and he needs to follow my orders whether he wants to or not! He doesn’t get to pick and choose which orders he follows and which he doesn’t, he does them all, whenever and wherever I want! That’s what he is here for, that’s all he’s good for, and if he has decided that he’s not going to do it anymore... then I will destroy him!”

 

“You’re so wrong,” Hannibal holds his stare, “That’s _not_ all he’s good for at all. You’re the one who’s been taken in here, you’ve never looked further than his pretty face to see what he’s capable of inside. He’s smart and he’s brave. He follows his convictions, is loyal and tenacious. He can think on his feet, roll with the punches, he never gives up and he’ll never back down. He’s got skills in the field that make you look like a boy scout and if he has decided that he’s not gonna follow your perverted, deviant orders, then it just shows that the kid’s got higher standards than you as well. And _you_ could have had him!” Hannibal stabs his finger back into Sanders’ chest, “Not on his knees in your office with a court martial hanging over his head, you could have had him follow you, respect you, fucking _die_ for you if you’d handled him right! All that kid’s ever wanted is someone to look up to, someone to follow, someone who gives the tiniest fuck about him as a person, and that could have been _you_ , you fucking halfwit!”

 

They stare at each other as Hannibal makes a concerted effort to calm down, “But you’ve missed your chance, Sol, ‘cause he’s _not_ yours anymore he’s mine. And I get to lead him, and I get to nurture him, and I get to see what a fucking superb man he’s going to be, while _you_ get to fuck off out of his life and leave him the hell alone!”

 

For one brief moment it seems that Sanders is out of ideas, but then the tiniest hint of a smile plays over his lips, “Well, that’s all good and pretty Major Smith...” he hisses, “But you seem to have forgotten that I outrank you here. And if I say the boy is mine, then he’s mine and I am going to have fun tearing him up, tiny piece by tiny piece until he is begging to get back in my bed and save himself. And _you_ ,” this time the finger is in Hannibal’s chest, “can do nothing about it!”

 

Hannibal’s eyes are cold and hard as he catches hold of Sanders’ finger in an iron grip, “That would be exactly the case,” he whispers, “had I not just got my eagles. It seems to me that the brass didn’t quite share your low opinion of the Cambodia job. And since I have, I reckon that makes us equal.”

 

Sanders recovers from his shock well and opens his mouth to speak, but Hannibal is too quick for him, “And before you even consider suggesting that you might want to hang on to the kid anyway, let me give you a word of advice here,” Hannibal makes sure his fist is twisting Sanders’ finger just enough to make it uncomfortable, “I’ve heard a lot of things today that have concerned me. Maybe enough to start asking around, talking to some of the boys, seeing what they tell me about your ‘orders’.”

 

He can see the beginnings of fear on Sanders’ face, “Is that what you want, Sol? Me poking around your sordid little past here?”

 

Sanders doesn’t respond. “Well, that’s exactly what you are gonna get if you come near my boy again, or if I hear that you have been making life hard for some other poor kid fresh out of college. Do you understand that?”

 

Sanders is obviously livid, but he knows that Hannibal has got him so he nods, one terse, furious nod and Hannibal steps back.

 

They stare at each other for the briefest of moments, each wishing the other into hell before Hannibal turns away. “I’m watching you Sanders...” he warns as he stalks to the door. He slams the handle down and yanks the door open, preparing to storm out, but freezes. There’s a soldier out in the corridor, standing right outside the door. Fair hair and blue eyes, a movie star’s face but with a soldier’s expression...

 

Hannibal is struck by the most powerful sense of déjà-vu as his eyes meet his lieutenant’s, but Face’s expression is a world away from that simmering fury Hannibal had witnessed almost a year ago now. He’s never seen the kid look so open, so vulnerable and so undone. He’s starring at Hannibal with wet eyes, looking like he’s going to crumple up at any moment, and all because, for the first time in his life, he’s heard somebody defend him, and praise him and talk about him as if he’s actually _worth_ something, and knowing that almost breaks Hannibal’s heart.

 

He reaches out and grips Face’s shoulder, making sure they have direct eye contact and smiles at his lieutenant, “I meant every damn word kid. I’ve never been as wrong about anyone as I was about you and I’m glad you stuck around long enough to show me,” he glances back over his shoulder to where Sanders is glaring at them with barely disguised venom, and then back to Face, “You ready to go now, kid?”

 

Face nods, and without another backward glance, they leave.

 

Epilogue

Time ticks on and in the three weeks since Hannibal returned to active duty he has been amazed by the change in Face. For a start, it’s the first time since he’s been in the unit that he actually looks happy. It doesn’t matter if they are going over the assault course in the pissing rain or up for a 5am run, he’s always cheerful, always smiling and it warms Hannibal from the heart.

 

Every day he is proving to Hannibal just what a damn fine soldier he is and what a damn fine leader he is going to make. Hannibal can see that he is thinking before he acts now. Maybe not always, and maybe he doesn’t always make the right choices, but it’s there and its coming and Hannibal is just so damn proud of him.

 

The friendship is coming as well, and Hannibal is pleased about that – even if he has realised he will always want just that little bit more. But he is nothing if not realistic and patient. Maybe it will come, maybe it won’t, but either way he’s enjoying things just as they are for the minute.

 

It’s a Saturday night with a rest day tomorrow, very rare and the boys are keen to make the most of it. They have arranged a Casino trip, but Hannibal just isn’t in the mood. He’s sent them off on their own for the night with his eye on a bottle of wine, some relaxing music and a good book. He can’t remember the last chance he got to do that.

 

The chance doesn’t materialise tonight either. Just as he is flicking through his meagre book stock, trying to decide which one to revisit tonight, there’s a knock at his door, and there is Face, with beer, popcorn and a crummy VHS. Hannibal answers his lieutenant’s grin and they settle down to watch the film.

 

They’re about half way through possibly the worst action film Hannibal has ever seen when he decides he wants some answers. He glances over at Face, reclined in the chair alongside him, one foot resting next to his other knee, bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap and he feels that weird pull in his chest again.

 

Face feels his stare and turns, flashing a quick grin and holding out the bowl, “Popcorn boss?” he offers.

 

Hannibal looks at him, really looks at him, trying to work out what’s in his head and its enough to make the kid’s grin falter and die just a bit, “Boss?”

 

Hannibal fixes him with his stare, “Why didn’t you tell me about Sanders?”

 

It’s not what Face is expecting and he lets the bowl drop back to his lap, turning away from his CO and starring at the TV with empty eyes.

 

“Face?”

 

“I dunno...” he eventually mumbles.

 

“I think you do...”

 

Face turns to look at him again and his look is clearly saying, ‘Are we really doing this boss? Really? You sure?’ so Hannibal nods.

 

He sighs and turns back to the screen and Hannibal is content to wait, he knows he’ll answer now and eventually he does.

 

“You wouldn’t have believed me. You’d have thought I was a liar or a whore...” The answer is only what Hannibal expected, but there is so much misery in his voice that he wants to strangle Sanders again for about the tenth time in three weeks.

 

He takes a breath, “Maybe at the beginning,” he admits, “but afterwards? Once you’d been with the unit a few weeks? Couldn’t you have told me then?”

 

Face has given up on the TV now, and is stirring the popcorn absently with one long finger. He looks thoroughly miserable and Hannibal feels bad for doing this to him, but it’s important, vitally so. He needs to know what’s going on in that head.

 

“I dunno...” Face repeats eventually, “I mean, I’m not getting at you here Hannibal, but, well, why would you believe me?” He looks up to meet Hannibal’s eyes, but his features are hidden in the half light of the room. “I mean Sanders isn’t stupid, when he told me to wait outside McGrath’s office that day you were all talking about me,” Hannibal feels the shame heat his cheeks, “he wasn’t just wanting to kick my ego, he wanted me to know how badly you thought of me, wanted me to know that you already thought I was a cheat and a liar...” Face looks back at the popcorn, “He didn’t want me to go to you, he was worried that I would tell, so he made sure I knew how futile that would be, that I was alone again before I’d even gone...”

 

Hannibal feels equal parts desperate and furious. Sanders is not going to get away with this. Face may well be safe now, but there are other kids out there that need protecting from this scumbag. He looks over and Face is staring into the popcorn, obviously a million miles away, and somewhere not too nice either judging by the look on his face...

 

Hannibal knows he needs to ask his next question, this is the one that has really been needling him, the answer he needs while he is plotting Sanders’ downfall. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Face...”

 

Face seems to cringe, it’s almost like he knows what is coming.

 

“While I was away... Did he... Sanders...” he forces himself to get a grip, “Did he touch you kid, while I was away?”

 

Face seems to slump into himself and Hannibal looks away, not trusting himself to keep a hold on his temper if he has to look at the kid at this point.

 

“I’m sorry, Hannibal...” And Hannibal’s stomach twists, it’s going to be every bit as bad as he dreaded; his elbow is propped on the arm rest of the chair and he lets his head falls into it.

 

“I’m sorry...” Face repeats and the edge of desperation to his voice is almost more than Hannibal can bare. “I just didn’t see another way, he had me cornered. The last time I said no, he set me up, planted some dope in my stuff, called it in, we were searched and that was it. Got a few of the boys to say I was dealing. _Dealing_ boss, Jesus I would _never_ do that...” Hannibal’s free hand is balled into a fist as he wills himself to stay calm. “And then when I was in deep shit, he said he would help me out if I... well... you know...”

 

Hannibal can _feel_ the kid blushing, feel his utter mortification. Face takes an audible deep breath, “So I did. I didn’t want to get chucked out, not then, and I certainly didn’t want to go to prison for dealing... But... Oh, god, Hannibal, I hated every fucking second of it...” Hannibal’s silent fury kicks up another notch.

 

There’s a long pause as they both try to get themselves back together before Face continues, his voice flat and emotionless now, “So I thought if I fucked up enough, I’d get bumped off his unit, sent somewhere else where he couldn’t get to me, but it didn’t work, ‘cause the bastard was _there_ wherever I went. It was just getting to the point when I couldn’t stand it when I got sent to you...” Hannibal fills in the blanks himself, how Face would have turned up, full of hope, knowing from Hannibal’s reputation that he would be finally free of Sanders, but then... he’d heard what Hannibal had said about him in McGrath’s office, and all that hope would have been crushed. Hannibal’s stomach twists with guilt. No wonder he’d pulled that disappearing act on his first week in Hannibal’s unit – he’d probably just about reached the end of his rope.

 

“Anyway... as soon as we got back from Cambodia, as soon as you had gone, he was back. Told me he’d pull the dope stunt again. All that stuff is still on my file boss, you must have seen it,” the desperation is back and Hannibal’s fury is rising again, “he’d get me thrown out, just when things are starting to go right, and all I could think was that you’d know I’d fucked up again and I didn’t know when you were back, and I asked around and no one did, and I knew that if Sanders set me up again _no one_ would believe me, and... I just didn’t know what to do... and...”

 

Hannibal’s fingers are cramping with the force of his clenched fists.

 

“I know I’ve let you down. I’m so sorry boss...”

 

And that does it. Hearing his boy, his smart, brave, _happy_   boy, sounding so broken and empty just snaps something inside him. Sanders is going to pay for this. Right fucking now. He’s up on his feet before he knows it and out of the door. His furious steps take him right round to the mess hall before the red mist clears enough to let him think and he stops. This isn’t the right way to deal with this and he knows it, but there is no way on earth he is going to let the bastard get off scot free. He leans against the wall of the mess and takes deep breaths, trying to straighten his head and think clearly.

 

He won’t ask around, but he’ll have a look at the boys in Sanders’ unit, he must have someone else lined up to fill the gap left by Face, and Hannibal is fairly sure he’ll be able to guess which one. And then he will watch and wait and bide his time and catch the fucker with his pants down and then he’ll get a one way ticket back to civilian life. Hannibal closes his eyes as he feels the rage drain away. Yes, that’s a plan, a good plan, and much more effective than just beating seven tonnes of shit out of him tonight. Tempting as that may be.

 

He’ll have to be careful though, not to let Face get wind of what he is planning. There is no way he wants Face to come within one hundred meters of Sanders ever again in his life, so it’s imperative the kid is kept in the dark. Speaking of which... Hannibal stands up from the wall, it’s time he was back, he’s got the second half of that crappy action movie to watch.

 

He walks slowly back, he wants to make sure all the anger is left behind him and when he pushes open the door to his quarters he hears the TV still playing loudly in the corner. He glances over to the chair where Face was sitting and frowns, it’s empty. With a shrug he picks up his beer can and takes a swig, kid’s probably gone for a piss or something, but then his eyes fall on the spilt beer and upended popcorn all over the floor and a chill settles into his bones. Hannibal thinks back to their conversation, Face’s admission, the guilt in his voice... and the way Hannibal flew out of the room. He’s back out of the door in a second.

 

Bursting into the boys’ quarters he sees Face at once, standing over his cot, stuffing clothes hurriedly into his kit bag. “Oh, no you don’t kid,” he murmurs to himself and in three strides he’s right behind him. “Face, stop, listen to me here,” He grabs Face’s shoulders and turns him round, stopping mid sentence when he sees the tears streaking down his cheeks.

 

“Oh, hell, kid, I’m sorry!” and he pulls him in, folding him into his chest, one hand on his shoulders, the other sliding up to the back of his head, cradling him in, feeling the tears against his neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, “It wasn’t you, it’s never you, I was just so pissed with Sanders I couldn’t think straight...”

 

But he doesn’t even think Face is listening. His own arms have come up around Hannibal’s back and he’s holding on so tightly that it hurts, sobbing into his CO’s neck, his words coming out in a garbled rush.

 

“I shouldn’t have told you; I know you won’t want me anymore, he   _told_ me you wouldn’t want me and I tried not to believe him, but he’s right. I gave in so easily ‘cause that’s what I am, just easy, and I know you expect better and now you’ll want me to leave and I will and-”     

 

“Face!” Hannibal grabs him, one hand under his chin, one hand on the side of his head, “Stop! Now!” And Face stops, tears running freely down his cheeks, quiet desperation on his features and Hannibal does what he’s wanted to do since the very first time he saw him standing outside McGrath’s office a year ago and leans in to kiss him.

 

For a second he thinks he’s made a horrendous mistake as Face is still and silent against him, but then with a delightful breath that’s almost a gasp, Face surges forward, his arms going up and around Hannibal’s shoulders and neck again, drawing him in, pulling them closer.

 

Hannibal lets his own hands move, sweeping around Face’s broad shoulders, tangling in his hair, stroking his neck and Face’s tongue moves to stroke the roof of his mouth in reply. A ridiculous moan is pulled from his lips as he feels Face lean into him, flattening his body into Hannibal’s hard frame, pushing, pushing closer and closer; finding that some parts of his boss’s anatomy are harder than others...

 

Instantly Face pulls back and Hannibal is left startled and bereft, wondering if he has made the wrong move after all, but then he is shocked back to awareness by Face’s hands on his fly, tugging it down, clever fingers working their way inside Hannibal’s khakis, trunks, until he finds...   _Jesus.._. And then he’s on his knees at Hannibal’s feet, and Hannibal is looking down on him in some kind of lust filled daze and then...

 

“No!” Hannibal pushes him away, so suddenly and so violently that Face ends up on his backside on the floor, his mouth, framed by kiss-red lips, open in shock, his eyes wide.

 

“Oh, god...” his voice is hoarse, “I’m sorry, boss, I’m sorry, I thought...”

 

But Hannibal doesn’t let him finish. This time he is the one on his knees between Face’s legs, hands firm on his lieutenant’s biceps.

 

“I’m not Sanders...” Hannibal rasps, blue eyes locking onto blue. “I want you kid, more than I can ever remember wanting anyone ever before, but not like that,” he gestures down at his still open fly, “You are worth so much more than a quick blow job on your knees, don’t you see that yet?”

 

Face can only blink at him.

 

“If we’re doing this, and I hope to God we are, we’ll do it properly okay?”

 

Still Face can only stare.

 

Hannibal reaches out with one, gentle finger and traces the salty track left by a tear, “I’m not taking anything from you that you wouldn’t freely give. I’m not expecting anything from you that I won’t give in return. Your days of sucking cock and taking it to order are over, kid. Nothing happens unless it’s what you   _want_. Okay?”

 

He waits. He knows Face will answer; he just needs a bit of time.

 

“Boss...?” but there’s nothing but confusion all over his face, “I don’t know what...” he shakes his head.

 

 “I’m asking you if you want to come to bed with me. Not just tonight, but for the foreseeable future. And not just the sex but...” and now Hannibal runs out of words, even _he_  isn’t sure what he wants here.

 

“Sanders said-”

 

“I don’t fucking care what Sanders said!” Hannibal explodes, “Listen to what I am saying!” He takes a breath, “None of that shit with Sanders bothers me. I want you. Now it’s your call, kid... do _you_ want _me_?”

 

Hannibal’s heart is thumping against his chest. He’s never exposed himself like this before. Ever. And it’s fucking freaking him out. But suddenly Face smiles; through his tears and his red eyes the smile blooms like a sunrise and Hannibal feels it in his heart and his groin.

 

“Oh yes boss, you’d better fucking believe it.”

 

And Hannibal smiles back, “Well, let’s go then...”

 

Within ten minutes they are back in Hannibal’s quarters, leaving the TV to play to itself and heading straight for the bedroom. It takes no time at all until they are both naked, and Hannibal can’t believe how this evening has turned out. Never in his wildest imaginings would this conclusion have come so soon, so easily. But then he sees the left over salty tracks of tears on his boy’s face and he realises maybe there was a price after all. He leans in and tastes those tracks with his tongue, gently trailing down and kissing Face’s jaw, feeling him shudder under the touch. Then Face kind of ducks, and Hannibal is confused for a second before he realises that he was going to drop to his knees again. He’s managed to stop himself this time, but now he is standing looking slightly awkward, ashamed of his nakedness and unsure what comes next. Hannibal’s heart clenches as he realises that Face just doesn’t know what to do. All of his sexual encounters have obviously involved him on his knees giving head, and since he knows that’s not what Hannibal wants, he’s lost.

 

Hannibal reaches out and places his hand against his slightly stubbled cheek, watching with a smile as Face closes his eyes and leans into his touch.

 

“You done this with any man other than Colonel Dick-Head, son?” He doesn’t even like bringing it up, but he needs to know.

 

To his relief, the slightest smile drifts across Face’s expression, “A few...” and Hannibal’s cock jumps at the obvious lust in his voice, “But no one who’s ever...” he doesn’t finish, and Hannibal doesn’t need him to. That’s enough information right there to let him know that Face has been a quick fuck for every man he’s been with. A pretty toy to take however they like. Tonight is going to be very different.

 

He leans in again, tiny kisses to his boy’s face, the corner of his lips, the corner of his eyes, the tip of his nose, his forehead and while he kisses he whispers the rules for the night so that they are both clear. “Tonight... is... about ... you... then...” Face’s eyes are still closed but Hannibal can almost see his heart pounding under his ribs, “I... want... you... to ...fuck me...”

 

At that point Face’s eyes flick open, their pupils blown wide, hardly any blue visible and Hannibal can’t suppress another smile at his expression.

 

“You like the sound of that kid? You want to fuck me?”

 

And this time he sees his cock jump at the words and he can’t resist letting his hand drift down and wrap around that hot, smooth flesh.

 

“Ah... Hannibal...” Face’s head has dropped down and Hannibal feels that thrill of lust rush through him knowing that his lieutenant is watching Hannibal fist him, “I’ve never...” he trails off into a gasp as Hannibal palms the shining head of his cock.

 

“I know you haven’t kid,” Hannibal has to suppress his own gasp as Face’s hand reaches down to mirror his own, “and to tell you the truth...” and it’s hard to talk at all now, watching those long fingers around his length, right next to his own hand doing the same to Face, “I’ve never let anyone before.” Face’s eyes snap up once again and they lock together, “Thought we could have that first time together...?” And he feels ridiculous and open and vulnerable again and wonders just what the hell he is doing giving this kid this much information, this much power over him.

 

But then it’s all okay because Face just seems to surge forward and he’s suddenly in Hannibal’s arms, kissing him with an enthusiasm which literally knocks them both onto the bed, and Hannibal really doesn’t mind as Face’s weight on him as it just grinds their cocks together so hard and it’s all just perfect.

 

There’s a tangle of limbs and mouths and heated flesh and Hannibal thinks he’s died and gone to heaven, but then Face is above him, pushing his thighs open and flicking his tongue over the inside of his legs and then the curve of his arse, and then his balls and Hannibal almost shouts out at that, and then he’s lifting one of Hannibal’s legs and lining himself up and Hannibal has to reach out and stop him with one hand while the other roots around in his bedside table.

 

He’s watching Face carefully as he reaches for the lube; the last thing he wants is to knock his confidence, and so he plainly registers the look of confusion and then dawning realisation that sweeps through Face’s expression as he sees what’s in Hannibal’s hand. Those expressions tumbling across the kid’s face tell him an entire story on their own and yet again Hannibal feels a surge of murderous rage towards anyone who has ever used his boy in such a cavalier way.

 

And then Face takes the tube and a frown clouds his face; he looks up, “Half empty boss...?” and the hurt is clear in his voice, “you do this often then?”

 

Hannibal sits up, hands immediately framing his lieutenant’s face, “Not in six years kid,” he shrugs, “makes it easier on your own, that’s all...”

 

Face seems to weigh his words up for a moment, before his smile is back and he is pushing Hannibal down onto the mattress, “Well, we’d better do something about that then, huh?”

 

And then they are back to where they were, hands and tongues and fingers and heat... and then there’s the cold thrill of the lube and he can feel Face’s finger tip, probing, gently, almost hesitantly and Hannibal needs more than that, “Just do it...” he whispers, his voice raw with lust.

 

It seems to be all Face needs to give him the confidence to do just that, and Hannibal has to bite down on his wrist as he is breached in one smooth motion by one finger, and then very quickly by another.

 

“Like this, boss?” and now he is stretching and scissoring and Hannibal vaguely registers what a quick learner he is before there’s another finger and he finds himself grinding down as Face brushes against his prostate.

 

“Yeah...” it’s all he can manage.

 

“Are you ready for me?” Face’s voice is strained and heavy and it’s clear he’s more than ready for Hannibal.

 

“Yeah.”

 

And then the fingers are gone and Hannibal is left feeling cold and empty before he looks down and sees Face lining himself up once more. The look of concentration on the kid’s face is just adorable but before Hannibal even has the chance to berate himself for sounding like such a girl, the air is forced out of his lungs as Face bears down and pushes the head of his cock through the tight ring of muscle.

 

Hannibal throws his head back into the pillow, “Oh, god...” and he feels Face starting to pull back. “No!” His hand reaches out but Face is too far away to touch, so he lifts his leg instead, pulling a knee up to his chest, making access easier, “Don’t stop...” he whispers, “keep going...”

 

Face pushes back in, “Fuck, boss, that’s so tight...” he’s moving forward all the time, creeping in millimetre by millimetre and Hannibal looks up, holding his eyes as he edges in, and it is, hands down, the _hottest_ thing he has ever seen in his life.  

 

“Christ, Face, you are so beautiful...” and he is. The sweat standing out on his forehead and his arms trembling as he tries to hold himself back. His eyes, bright blue around the blown irises, fixed on his boss as he fills him completely, and then he’s in.

 

He almost collapses against Hannibal’s chest as he stops and Hannibal can tell from his breathing that he is holding back, trying to calm himself down, determined he’s not going to come just yet and so Hannibal lets him wait, stroking the back of his head, but he’s desperate for some movement.

 

Eventually it comes. Face lifts himself up a bit and offers a shaky grin at Hannibal and then draws back, before sliding straight back in again.

 

“Jesus...”

 

“Fuck...”

 

They laugh together and then Face does it again and its suddenly not so easy to laugh as the heat starts to build. Face is still taking it slowly, one long pull out and one long push in and its fucking incredible, but not what Hannibal wants. “Faster...” he growls as Face reaches the end of a pull back and Face’s hips seem to respond automatically, snapping back in faster and harder than before, “Oh, yes...”

 

And that undoes him completely, Hannibal can tell the exact second he loses control and its the most incredible thing ever. Hannibal’s hands fist in the sheets, the blankets, the pillows as Face drives into him over and over again, eyes locked on his boss’ face the entire time.

 

But soon even that isn’t enough and Hannibal is pushing back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, pulling obscene moans from both their mouths. And then, as Hannibal’s hips rise, Face meets his prostate head on and his arm is in his mouth again, stifling a shout.

 

“You like that?” Face is breathing hard. “If I do it like this? Is that right?”

 

Hannibal can only arch his back into the thrusts and throw his head back against the pillows, chewing his arm to keep the noise down.

 

“Jesus, boss, this is fucking incredible...”

 

It’s obvious that Face hasn’t got long left in him, and Hannibal himself is bathed in sweat, his legs cramping up and he’s struggling to keep his knee up. Face seems to read his mind and grabs hold of his slipping knee, pulling it back up and resting his calf on his shoulder, before slipping his hand down and grabbing Hannibal’s cock.

 

“Come on, boss...” his thrusts are getting erratic, “I need to see you come for me...”

 

And that just finishes him off, as Face nails his prostate again and again and works his cock frantically, he comes hard and fast, spilling all over his stomach and his boy’s hand.

 

“Oh, fuck...!” and that’s the only warning he gets before Face comes as well, and he feels the strangest sensation of fluid warmth filling him inside and he knows it’s a feeling he wants again and again.

 

Then Face collapses on top of him and Hannibal brings his arms up to go around him and they lay still, hearts pounding, sweat cooling and the smell of semen all around them.

 

Face tries to slide off him, but Hannibal holds him still.

 

“I must be crushing you boss...” Face’s voice is sleep-slurred and it brings a smile to Hannibal’s face. He shifts to one side and lets Face slip onto the mattress next to him.

 

“Okay kid?”

 

“Fucking fantastic, boss...” he cracks open an eye, “you?”

 

“Never been better...”

 

“You want another go?” and Hannibal smiles again because, right now, there’s nothing Face looks less likely of achieving.

 

“Go to sleep...”

 

“Am I okay to stay here?”

 

Hannibal clenches his jaw as he imagines who in their right mind would ever throw Face out of their bed, but he just leans over and kisses him on the top of his head, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

And that seems to be all Face needs to know as within thirty seconds he’s breathing slowly and steadily, his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, arm and leg thrown across his torso, looking like he’s about nineteen, and for all Hannibal knows, he probably is.

 

Hannibal looks over to his jacket, laid across the chair at the end of the bed and thinks of the cigars in the pocket. He really could murder a cigar right about now, but he’s sure as hell not going to move. He slips his arm around Face’s shoulder and the kid snuggles in a bit more and Hannibal knows that this is all going to work out just fine.   

 


End file.
